The Lost Spell
by lizardwizard777
Summary: There's a new gang of Death Eater copy-cats running amok in Europe using ancient magic that's been lost to the modern world. Hermione and Harry go on a search to discover the origins of these spells, learning about the rest of the wizarding world along the way. H/Hr eventually. Some Angst in the beginning chapters. T for violence, language and some *romantic* situations.
1. Chapter 1: Echoes of the Bell

Chapter 1: Echoes of the Bell

Somewhere deep beneath London, under the feet of businessmen and women marching to work, under than the snaking tunnels of the Underground, Hermione Granger sat at a desk stacked high with papers. The office appeared completely ordinary, no different than its counterparts above ground. However, it was unlikely that you would find book titles like _Goblins at the Gate: How the Goblin Rebellions Shaped the Ministry of Magic, A History of Magic, _and _Dragons, Nifflers, Hippogriphs, Oh My!: A Brief Case History of Magical Creatures and Their Encounters with Muggles _on the bookshelves of any typical office_. _It was also unlikely that in an ordinary office you would find photographs in which the subjects in them moved. Yet here they were, smiling, laughing, dancing as though reliving a memory on a constant loop. Here was one of Hermione, a long limbed, pale, redheaded boy, and a shorter, olive-skinned, black haired boy, a lightning shaped scar on his head. They all looked exceptionally thin and shabby, but relieved. They smiled as the tall redhead draped his lanky arms casually over the shoulders of the other two. There was another of her and the redhead, dancing, she being spun round every now and then, laughing. Then another of her and the black-haired boy, him throwing a snowball at her, and then her, chasing him around, eventually tackling him to the ground. If these were odd, Hermione paid no attention. For she was busy at work. Her head hung over a purple file folder lying open on her desk, frowning as she read:

_Subject's name: Poppy_

_Subject's Species: English House Elf_

_Cause of Report: Relocation and reemployment _

_Date of Report Filing: 2 January 2004_

_Details: Poppy's masters, the Blackwood family, presented the house elf with clothes on 15 December 2003. Poppy states her release was prompted by a mistake made over a cup of tea. The Blackwood family has been contacted to corroborate this account, however they have refused to be interviewed. Since her release, Poppy has failed to acquire new employment and housing. Poppy learned of the elf relocation program at the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures from a fellow house elf (Poppy has refused to name who told her about the program) and has requested the Department's aid. _

She sighed at the end of the report; yet another elf thrown carelessly on the streets. She began to write at the bottom of the page:

_Resolution: Poppy will be sent to Hogwarts for employment, effective immediately. Deputy Head Granger of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will contact Headmistress Minerva McGonagall to inform the school of Poppy's arrival. Signed 4 January 2004._

She closed the folder, waved her wand above it and it vanished with a small pop. She pulled another piece of parchment towards her and began composing a letter to Professor McGonagall.

_Dear Professor McGonagall, _

_I write to inform you that I have another elf who will be sent to work at Hogwarts. Poppy was released by her family and has been unemployed and homeless for a fortnight._

Hermione paused and bit her lip, looking at the letter. She added:

_Thank you for working with the Department and helping us find homes for these elves. We are working tirelessly on new elf-rights legislation and elf-welfare programs here, however the process has been slow and we've been forced to redraft most of our work. Soon enough, we will have a more permanent solution for these homeless house elves. _

_I hope you are well, _

_Hermione Granger_

She folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope and sealed it and waved her wand above it. This time, the letter folded itself into an origami crane and flew through the crack in the office door, off to the Ministry's owlery.

She was just about to open another purple file when the grandfather clock in the corner of her office began to chime. The hour hand pointed to the words _time to go home._

She slid a few folders into a bag, threw a coat over her shoulders, and started out the door. But as she opened the door, her eye was drawn to one of the photos on the bookshelf. She stopped and walked over to it, staring at it with curiosity, her head tilted to the side as she watched the redheaded man spin her round and round. She picked it up to examine it closer. As she watched them laugh, the corners of her mouth twitched as though she were going to smile. But it flickered and died. She put it back onto the shelf carefully and gave it one last searching look, as though it held the answer to a particularly vexing question within it. Shaking her head slightly, she rushed out of the room, leaving the people in the photos behind.

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace into her flat, brushing dust off of her coat. As she stepped into the living room, Crookshanks sauntered into the living room to greet her, purring softly. She dropped her bag and lifted the cat into her arms. Stroking his ginger fur, she walked to the window to look out at the snowy street. It was cloudy, the sky growing darker still as the sun descended beneath the horizon. Everything looked as though it had been layered with cake icing, alonely snow-covered car trundled up the road to some unknown destination. She watched it until it turned at the end of the lane.

It was a small flat. During the day when the sun was out, light streamed through two large windows, filling the room with natural light. In the center of the room, a small loveseat and two soft armchairs sat in front of the fireplace, where Hermione liked to read in front of the warm flames. The wall opposite the fireplace had a couple of large bookshelves, filled with even more books than at her office. In another part of the room, a small, round dining table sat atop a large rug, covered in books and folders - work Hermione had brought home. Off the living room was a small kitchen, and upstairs were two bedrooms, one master and another smaller bedroom with a bed for guests and a desk, although it had become somewhat of a second office for Hermione, since she had guests so rarely.

It was quiet, but Hermione didn't mind. After a long and frustrating day at work, Hermione preferred the silence to clear her head.

She put down Crookshanks and took off her coat, tossing it casually on the back of a chair. She walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, hoping in vain that there would be something already prepared inside. Inside was a jar of mayo, a jar of mustard, a bottle of ketchup, and an apple so horribly rotted that it had reduced to the size of a prune. Crookshanks began walking between Hermione's legs, humming as his body stroked her pant legs. He sat beside her, staring at her knowingly.

"I suppose I'll have to go out then, right?" she said to him. His tail swished rhythmically.

First, she thought of going to the Leaky Caldron, but then thought of the note sitting on her dining table:

_You probably don't give a damn but I'll be staying in the flat above the joke shop should any owls come for me. _

Images of their row from the previous night began orbiting around her head, and she felt her face flush with anger as she remembered the name Ron called her before he slammed the door behind him.

"You know what?" she said, turning to Crookshanks, "I'd better stay away from Diagon Alley, don't you think?" She knew running into Ron would only make them both of them more irritable. At first, when their rows escalated, Ron would sleep in the spare room when they needed time apart. However, recently they'd required more space, more time away from each other between their rows and reunions, and Ron would often stay at the twins' old flat. He would usually show up looking apologetic after one or two nights, holding flowers and a box of sugar quills, and they'd make up.

She ended up at a small Indian restaurant on the corner of the lane, eating alone in the dimly lit restaurant, squinting at the files she'd brought home. After dinner, she read some more files, readied herself for bed, and as soon as her head hit her pillow, she was asleep.

It felt like seconds later she was being shaken awake. She looked at the dark shadowy figure above her, aware of the smell before her eyes could adjust to the dark: sweat, dirt, and the unmistakable metallic stench of blood.

Harry stood above her, his arms on her shoulders, his eyes boring into her face with intense desperation. "Harry?" she said groggily, pulling herself in a slightly more upright position. He took his hands off of her shoulders and sat next to her on the bed, staring at the floor.

Her eyes confirmed what her nose had told her: Harry was covered in a layer of dust, his sweaty face glistening in the faint moonlight, a trail of dried blood running down his cheek from beneath his scalp. At this sight, it was as though she'd been submerged into an icy pond. Though she'd seen Harry like this more than a dozen times in their thirteen years of friendship, it still filled her with dread.

Hermione noticed he was shaking slightly. "Harry - what's happened?" she asked somewhat more forcefully, the fear rising like an electric shock, banishing any tiredness left in her. But Harry remained silent, staring fixedly at the ground.

"Look at me, Harry, you're scaring me." She grabbed his jaw and turned his face, forcing him to look at her. Voice quavering, she asked him again, "what's going on?"

His green eyes, bloodshot and red rimmed, bore into her brown ones. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak, "Hermione," and the way each syllable spilled out of his mouth was like a confession. He opened his mouth to speak again, but instead of his voice filling the room, there was a knock on the door. It echoed like a church bell tolling, each sound wave redoubling itself as it bounced off the walls, growing louder and louder. She would've liked to be a bird; she would have liked to burst into flight, away from the sound. But she was not a bird. She was Hermione. And she knew, as she and Harry spoke wordlessly, that when she opened the door, her life would be irreversibly changed.

The knocking stopped, but the echoing did not, the last words she said to Ron playing over and over again her head, _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you._


	2. Chapter 2: The Surprise

A/N: I know the beginning is quite dramatic, but bear with me, things will brighten up soon enough!

Chapter 2: The Surprise

_Two Years Later_

Hermione rummaged through her desk, clearing out broken quills, scraps of parchment, and the occasional lost candy wrapper. The shelves were empty of their books and photographs, all of them stowed away neatly in a box on her desk. When she was finished, she paused and looked around the room. It had been her first real office, the first place she'd made a name for herself in her work, where she'd spent almost seven years of her life. Now she was off to another office, another chapter in her professional life, where hopefully she would make a difference, too: the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She gave the office one last look over before picking up the box and walking out the door.

"SURPRISE!" Hermione jumped and fumbled with the box in her hands as what seemed like the entirety of the Department stood in a semi circle around the door to her office. A couple of Fillibuster's fireworks went off, filling the air with bright red stars.

"Wow" Hermione said sheepishly, "You didn't have to do all of this. Really, I'm only going to be a couple of floors away." Hermione's now former supervisor, Timothy Petit, a small balding man with a large, bushy mustache that curled up at the ends, took the box from her hands and laughed genially, "nonsense Hermione! It's the end of an era at the Department, it really won't be the same without you."

There were a few murmurs of agreement and many people nodded their heads. Then followed an awkward silence as everyone stared at her, expectant smiles on their faces. Hermione thought they must be waiting for her to make a speech or something, and she internally cursed herself. Knowing the over-excited attitude of Petit and the rest of the office, she should have expected something like this.

"Er-" she started, "I want to thank you all for being such an important part of my experience in the department. I'm very proud of the elf-rights legislation we passed," a couple of people coughed, the legislation still caused discomfort in some wizards, "and none of it would have been possible without the help of every person in this room. Thank you." Obviously these words were satisfactory, because everyone started clapping. The crowd parted slightly as two people wheeled over a table holding an immense cake bearing the words, "THANK YOU HERMIONE!"

After many conversations filled with bland talk and insisting that she really needed to get home to feed her cat, she finally managed to escape the party. When she arrived at home she unceremoniously dumped the box on the floor and collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. She felt unreasonably tired, especially considering she'd left work early.

Crookshanks jumped up onto Hermione's lap and she ran her fingers through his hair. "It's been quite a day, hasn't it, Crookshanks?" He closed his eyes as she scratched the top of his head. The real reason she'd wanted to go home so badly, was because it would have been Ron's 26th birthday tomorrow, and she hadn't been up for celebrating very much. Ron had died more than two years ago now, and she felt the familiar heavy weight like a stone press on her stomach as she remembered when Harry had woken her up in the middle of the night to be with her when the head of the Auror department told her Ron had been killed in an ambush.

There was a sharp rap on the window. An owl with a letter tethered to its leg hovered outside the window. She went got up and opened the window, and it flew in, perching itself on top of an armchair. Crookshanks looked curiously at the owl, licking his lips and tracking its movements. "Be nice, Crookshanks," warned Hermione as she untied the letter from the owl. It was from Mrs. Weasley.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I know this is quite last minute, but tomorrow night we are having dinner at the burrow in honor of Ron's birthday. The whole family is getting together and we would love to have you join us. We all miss you very much - we hardly see you anymore. Send a reply with our owl, and we hope to see you at 7 tomorrow evening._

_All of my love,_

_Molly_

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat in affection for the Weasley family. Yet she could not suppress the anxiety beginning to dampen the brief moment of excitement she'd experienced upon reading the invitation. In the immediate aftermath of Ron's death, the Weasley's had invited Hermione to family dinners and events, including her as though she was still Ron's girlfriend, as though she were family. But after a few months of this, the invitations grew less frequent and Hermione somehow became busier, and accepted these invitations less often. Eventually they drifted apart, as if mutually agreeing that each other's presence only emphasized the absence of Ron. Occasionally she saw Arthur and Percy at work, and she frequently still wrote Ginny, although it had been a few weeks since their last meeting, now. She had not been around the entire Weasley family at the burrow in years. What would it be like to be around them all again? When they saw her, would they be sad or angry? Reminded by the absence of Ron once more? Would the burrow feel cold and empty, as it had after Ron died? And would she feel once more riddled guilt - a guilt which she'd hidden from anyone - knowing that she had decided she wasn't in love with Ron anymore just hours before his death?

She sat down and sighed again, one hand resting on her now churning stomach, the other on the couch clutching the invitation. Maybe it would be better if she didn't go to the Weasley's. Afterall, it would be unfair for her to be amongst so many people who loved Ron when she her last words to him were the very opposite. Of course she'd always loved Ron, but now she realized it wasn't in the way everyone believed. It would be easier if she knew Harry was going to be there. And Harry, well, it felt like a second stone had been dropped on her stomach when she thought of Harry.

Like Hermione, Harry had been invited to a few events at the Burrow in the immediate aftermath of Ron's death, and they often stuck together, a buffer to the Weasley's grief. But he, too, eventually stopped showing up to things. He and Ginny had mutually agreed to break off their engagement years before, so he had as much connection to the Weasley's as Hermione did. Unlike Hermione, however, a few months after Ron died, he disappeared. It was as though he'd never existed. Hermione would write and write and write, yet no reply ever came. When she confronted the Auror department they simply said he was "on a case," but Hermione knew better. She knew he could not bear to see the Weasleys, could not bear to see Hermione - he blamed himself for Ron's death, and he'd run away. And that was how Hermione lost the two people she'd been closest to in a matter of months.

She stared at the ceiling, thinking, when the owl perched on the armchair made an impatient sort of noise. Hermione admired the owl for the first time as she turned towards it. It was a serious upgrade from Errol. Errol had always seemed like he was on death's door, but as she looked at the new handsome Barn owl, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for old owl, probably dead just like Ron.

Maybe it would be better if she didn't go. Molly had written her so late, Hermione reasoned, maybe she'd she only invited Hermione because she felt obligated to. _Or maybe,_ said another voice in her head, _she meant what she said in the letter, and actually wants you to be there_. She stood up quickly, causing Crookshanks to jump off to his feet, his hair standing on end. Before she could change her mind, Hermione grabbed a scrap of parchment from her desk and quickly scrawled a note in return.

_Dear Molly,_

_Thank you for inviting me. I would love to see you and the family at the burrow tomorrow night for dinner. I miss you all, too._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

* * *

At precisely 7:09 the next evening Hermione apparated onto a hill overlooking the Burrow. The house was silhouetted against a bright streak of orange shooting across the darkening skies, the first stars beginning to appear overhead. The Burrow looked warm with its windows shinning bright in the darkness. From the top of the hill, Hermione could see a long table lit by strings of light, columns of warm fire surrounding them to keep the area warm. Four children chased each other around the yard as two people stood watching them and talking to each other, their bodies turned towards the children. Hermione heard the squeaky door swing open and someone emerged with a stack of plates, set them on the table, then returned inside once more. Hermione took a deep breath and began to walk towards the house, grass crunching beneath her feet. As she approached, she recognized the two talking figures as Ginny and Bill, Bill holding his youngest child and only son, Louis in his arms.

At the sound of her footsteps, Ginny turned her head. "Hermione!" she ran to her, her arms outstretched and pulled Hermione into a tight embrace. "It's so good to see you, Ginny," she said into her hair. They broke apart and beamed at each other. Ginny took her by the hand and led them over to Bill.

"Hermione, it's good to see you again," said a smiling Bill. They kissed each other on each cheek,"It's good to see you too, Bill." Hermione looked at the little blonde boy in Bill's arms, and grinned, "And this must be Louis?" Hermione had met Louis once when he was a newborn. Bill looked at Louis with fatherly pride, "Louis, do you want to say hello to Miss Hermione?"

"Hello Louis," Hermione waved at him. Louis stared at her with suspicion for about two seconds, then hid his face, burying it into his father's shoulder. The three of them laughed and Bill apologized for his son's timidness.

"Come inside, we're all desperate to see you," said Ginny, pulling her towards the house.

As the screen door swung open Hermione felt a wave of relief. It wasn't cold as she feared, but warm and welcoming. George and Angelina were scolding their son in the living room, Freddie, as the little girl in Angelina's arms, Roxy, cried. Charlie, Percy and Percy's wife Audrey were in conversation, butterbeers in hand, Charlie gesticulating flamboyantly - probably explaining something to do with dragons, thought Hermione. Fleur and Mrs. Weasley were in the kitchen, chatting happily, large smiles on their faces as they watched over a pot of simmering liquid and several knives chopping greens for a salad. Finally, her eyes found Mr. Weasley standing near the wooden table in the kitchen. Her eyes fell on the dark-haired man he was speaking to, a man she hadn't seen in two years - _Harry_.

* * *

"Look who's here!" Harry, who'd been leaning on the dining table in the kitchen, turned around. A grin spread across his face and his stomach performed what he was sure would have been an impressive backflip as his eyes fell on Hermione. The last time he had seen her she had been wan, her skin waxy and inhumanly shiny. Then, she often forgot to eat meals until her body began to waste away and sharp angles began to poke out of her skin. She had been so thin, she might have been blown away as easily as a feather in a gale of wind, though her body seemed to sag as though they were the heaviest things in the world. Now she had an air of confidence about her, her body full, and her skin soft and supple once more. Her cheeks were rosy, and grew rosier still as all of the eyes in the room fell on her.

The crowd of Weasleys descended upon her, and Harry caught phrases like, 'it's so good to see you!' and 'it's been much too long!' and 'the children have grown so much,' and 'you look as beautiful as ever' as they exchanged hugs and kisses. Harry could not help but admire her from the back, still smiling as her eyes met his.

When the crowd began to thin and people began to talk amongst themselves once more, Harry put his butterbeer down onto the table and brushed a streak of dust off of his shirt that he hadn't noticed until that precise moment. She walked towards him, and he moved to hug her, but stopped midway, worried she might not want to hug him. Afterall, he'd essentially run away and, despite her attempts to communicate with him, he had not seen or written or spoken a word to her in two years now. So instead he laughed rather awkwardly through his teeth, wiping his now sweaty hands on his pants at his sides.

"Hermione," he managed, but before he could say anything else she pulled him into a bone crushing hug which took the breath out of him,_ "oomph!"_ He returned the hug as best as he could, as she'd pinned his arms to his torso with her hug. She pulled away and looked up into his eyes. Her brown eyes were bright and full of life, not like the hollow, red rimmed and sunken ones he remembered. "It's so good to see you,'' she said. Harry beamed down at her, feeling somewhat relieved and replied, "it's good to see you, too."

They were interrupted by Mrs. Weasley calling to the room. "Now that we have everyone here, let's eat shall we!" There was a general mass movement towards the door, people carrying out platters of chicken, brussel sprouts, glazed carrots and parsnips, freshly baked bread, tureens of gravy, and a salad out to the table. Harry and Hermione followed, taking seats across from each other next to Ginny, Charlie and Mr. Weasley. The food was delicious as always. Harry laughed and smiled as he listened to the Weasley's stories, listening rather than speaking himself. He didn't feel like sharing what he'd been up to the past two years, thinking his Auror work wouldn't begin the most cheerful of conversations. Rather, he wanted to savor the warmth and liveliness of the people around him, as if being near it would allow him to absorb some of their happiness. After dinner had been eaten and the plates were empty, Mrs. Weasley brought out a magnificent orange cake. Harry smiled - he guessed the cake was colored in honor of Ron's love of the Chudley Cannons. He remembered how badly his Chudley Cannons hat clashed with his hair. As Mrs. Weasley put the cake down in the middle of the table, Mr. Weasley stood up at the head and cleared his throat loudly.

"Excuse me," he said, raising his voice over the excited chatter over cake. The table fell silent as they all looked up at him.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. It's always special to have our whole family together like this, though I know the occasion is not the happiest one. We lost Fred almost nine years ago and Ron more than two years ago. Not a day goes by when I don't think about them." At this he paused and cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. "However, we didn't want to have dinner on Ron's birthday not so much to mourn, but to celebrate his life and Fred's life, to remember them and the precious moments we spent with them. I'm proud of my sons, and though I would do anything to have them by my side again, I feel proud knowing that they died fighting for a better life for all of us." He smiled sadly. Harry turned and looked at Mrs. Weasley, whose face was wet with silent tears as she stared up at Arthur. "So, I'd propose a toast." Mr. Weasley raised his glass, "To Ron and Fred."

Everyone around the table raised their glasses and said together, "Ron and Fred." The table was notably subdued as the cake was cut and slices were distributed. Harry stole a glance at Hermione. She was staring fixedly at cake on the end of her fork, her eyes vacant. It was like an icy bucket of water came over him, sobering his hour of elation. Ron and Fred should be here tonight, celebrating Ron's birthday. Ron should've been blowing out candles on his cake. Fred should be making fun of Ron with George. It wasn't right.

Gradually, as the cake was eaten, the crowd became somewhat more cheerful, resuming their lost conversations. It was only after Freddie's head hit the table with a thud, did they realize it was getting late, and began to clear away the table.

After the plates had been cleared, the table and chairs had been banished, and several families had gone home carrying sleepy children, Harry stood outside on the porch alone with his hands on the railing, looking up at the stars. He fondly remembered when he and Ron were forced to make up their horoscopes for divination during their fourth year after they grew tired of consulting the complicated star charts Professor Trelawney had given them.

The door swung open and shut. Harry felt his body tense as Hermione stood next to him. He felt like a lot of his nervousness had been dispelled when Hermione had hugged him, but this was the first time they'd really been alone since he left. They stood in silence, looking up at the stars together. Harry couldn't think of what to say to her, and when e opened his mouth to speak, he promptly shut it again.

"You look good tonight," he said. She turned abruptly and looked at him. He felt stupid. These were the first words he'd really spoken to her alone and he'd chosen were _you look good tonight? _She raised her eyebrow and looked at him with such a Hermione-ish look, that for a moment he felt like they were back at Hogwarts, and she was interrogating him about something dangerous he was about to engage in. He never could get anything past her.

"Er- you look, healthy, I mean. Like you're doing well," he said thickly, clearing his throat.

"Oh," she said, "thanks." She leaned her elbows against the rails of the porch, her hands clasped before her. There was a pause as they looked out to the stars once more.

"I didn't know you were going to be here," she said without looking at him.

"Yeah, I uh -" his voice cracked, which it hadn't done in a very long time, "I, uh, came back because the auror department wanted to speak with me."

"So you're leaving again?" she looked up at him.

"No," he said quickly, "it's nice to be home again." And it was true. Seeing the Weasleys and seeing Hermione, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed having people in his life. Most of his time away had been punctuated by long periods of solitude and silence. Now that he'd gotten another taste of being around people who not only tolerated his presence, but also genuinely liked him, he desired once more the stability and normalcy of living at home.

"You know," she said, looking away from him and out into the dark, "I wondered when you would come back. At first I thought you'd be back in a day. Then it was two days. Maybe you would be back in a week. Then a month passed, then it was three months, then a year." When she said it, she wasn't angry or sad. She said it rather matter-of-factly, as though she had no opinion on the matter. Harry felt his stomach was probably tired of the rollercoaster his emotions were putting it through as his stomach twisted into knots.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," and he truly was. And there were so many other things he wanted to say. He wanted to explain, to say that it was his fault that Ron died, that he couldn't face the Weasleys after they lost another son. That Hermione had lost someone she loved. But it felt impossible, like the words were dammed inside him, and if he said any of it, then the dam would break along with all of him, too.

"I haven't seen you in two years," she nodded without looking at him. She turned and looked at him again suddenly, "I'm starting a new job tomorrow, and I'm tired." She stood up to her full height and looked into his eyes, smiling. She took his right hand in her left and squeezed it gently, "I'll see you later." Then she let go, and Harry watched as she walked off into the darkness, before the faint sound of a crack told her she was gone.


End file.
